KH - Plain Sight Prologue
Plain Sight Prologue
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Character: Roxas
Genre: Sci-Fi/Romance
Rating: T / PG-13
Chapters: 1 / ??
Beta: N/A
Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts rights belong to Square Enix and Disney. This piece of fiction is fan-made and as such I am making no monetary profits off of this.
...
This is not a happy story. A lot of stories begin with something witty. Some hilarious opening that you will remember for most of your life. You will revisit the story several times for a laugh, and then follow the character along their travels until they reach some sort of conclusion of self and words are exchanged. Love is attained, closure is found, and a truth of self is revealed. Some have a great conclusion that will haunt you for the rest of your days. It will change the way you think. The way you act.
But my story isn't like that.
This isn't humor, or adventure, or action. Truth is not found, and there are no great mysteries of life to unravel. A lot of this is high school- most of it isn't. You could say it's an extraordinary romantic tale, but that wouldn't quite do the people around me justice as they fell in and out of love like any normal person does. There were flings, there was conflict. Fights, screams, anger, turmoil, despair. So much despair at our hands. But before the despair, like in so many other stories, there was love. And just as it is with all those others, my story begins with a girl. One who displays the entire circle right before our eyes in her own way. She had love, despair, and finally that love was lost in the circumstances and given no chance to recover from it.
“You're Roxas, right?” she'd said to me, leaning forward on the operation bed and adjusting her posture, one hand on her stomach. Ultrasound equipment littered the room.
Mom asked me to sit in. Apparently I got the time wrong, but she didn't ask me to leave. “You're pregnant.”
The girl laughed. “My name's Xion, and yes, I am. And I hope he looks like his father,” she stated happily, eyes twinkling. “He’ll probably have blue eyes, and brown hair- and a cute, tiny nose!” I could only watch as she rambled on in rapture without any prompting, hands clasping together as she stared into space and babbled about nothing and everything. It was odd- did all women talk about their children this much, even when they hadn’t been born? Lucrecia- my mother- had never shown near this much maternal instinct, or whatever it was called. Either Xion was an enigma or I was surrounded by crazy people. “What do you think of Sora?”
Pulling myself from my trance, I looked around expectantly, only to find that we were alone and she was asking me. “What?”
“Sora,” she restated, rolling her eyes in a ‘Sigh, men’ sort of gesture. “As a name for the baby.”
I shrugged. “Sounds good,” I replied halfheartedly. In an attempt to appeal to her, I asked, “What does it mean?” Woman go ga-ga for that kind of thing, right?
She swelled happily- they apparently did- and her grin turned sentimental. “It means sky,” the older girl replied, staring down at the lump in her stomach with joy. “And now that I think on it, it’s an anagram of your name- minus the X.” Looking up from her stomach, where my gaze had wandered, my eye widened in shock. Xion laughed. “I'm practically naming him after you, Mr. Zombie?”
A smile, unbeknownst to me, spread across my lips in that moment, and we just looked into each others’ eyes for a while until Lucrecia came in with the ultrasound gel. When the monitor revealed a healthy fetus, both women cooed as if they couldn't contain themselves.
“That’s my son,” Xion gasped. Never had I heard her voice so full of emotion; pride, even. “That’s my Sora.”
“The council,” Mother began, successfully spoiling the moment with a sharp edge, “wants you to get an abortion.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring as she glared the woman down. “Not going to happen,” she hissed dangerously. “He’ll be born before the operation is put into action; there’s nothing to worry about!”
Lucrecia sighed, and I knew this was about to be a moment I wasn’t supposed to see. Never the less, I stayed. “Xion,” she began, slowly, carefully. “The baby will interfere with your Mako intake, your mission is still incomplete, there has been no word from the authorities as to whether or not you can keep the baby, and- must we forget- human and Hybrid genetics tend to be incompatible.”
“I,” the girl began, leaning forward slowly, bending everything but her stomach as carefully as she could. “Don’t,” she continued, getting into the woman’s face. “Care.” The last word was practically spat, and she leaned back as casually as she could. “I promised Demyx that I wouldn’t get an abortion.”
“Tell him it was a miscarriage.”
“I’m not going to lie to Demyx.”
“You already are.”
Silence followed, and I found myself leaning away from the two and sliding off towards the stairs. My footsteps went unnoticed, even as they were the only sound that was made other than our breathing. They echoed around the room, and nothing really made sense to me in that moment. I wasn’t part of the outside world, after all.
She smiled, her hand protectively clenching in the shirt above what was undeniably a lump. “He's my-” The girl, no older than myself, paused and corrected herself. “Our baby.” Maternity fell off her in waves. Love, adoration, and just a hint of fear.
This girl- I already knew a bit about her. She had been mobilized to seduce a chairman's son. Originally a Bird-Hybrid, she had once been complete with hollow bones and feathers. Said feathers had been removed in the same program that had taken my ears and tail, but the bones remained.
Her name was Xion, but they called her “Puppet.”
The next time I saw her was a few months before they entered me into high school. Mother asked for my help in the lab- the basement, whatever you want to call it. And there she was thrashing about the table as assistants held her arms down in an attempt to restrain that weak little girl. But she was a Hybrid, and these chemists were all human. They didn't stand a chance.
“Get the restraints,” my mother shouted, pointing me to the leather straps that hung form the sides of the table. “Now!” Was she under a drug? Was she in pain? Containers we used for Mako littered the ground, empty, and Xion put off a sharp green glow.
The restraints were pulled, and they shooed me from the room, but not before the girl began her mantra. “Sora!” she screamed. “Sora!”
When all the doctors left I came around once more, sliding my hand into hers as she stared up at the ceiling, all grief and choking sorrow. “What will I tell him?” she asked.
“Tell who?”
“Demyx.” A tear leaked from one of her eyes, though lefts and rights confuse me so I couldn't tell you which. “We were going to take care of him. Our Sora.” Her gaze drifted, and mine followed.
My stomach lurched, and I averted my eyes to her stomach. Gone was the baby-bump. They had moved it into the jar in the corner without bothering to lock it somewhere she couldn't see. It was then that Xion chose to continue.
“They said...” She trailed off again before continuing, seeming to take courage from the past. “The Council kept saying that Sora was a liability. Newborns at this stage will only jeopardize the plan. Sora would have to be erased and...”
What she said after was a mixture of words and tears that I cannot understand even to this day. A redhead girl- another Bird-Hybrid- came in soon after and took her hand from me. There was some unspoken, “Leave,” that dripped from her eyes and I soon followed the hint. The atmosphere was charged with sorrow, love, and some brand of sexual tension that I didn't even want to begin searching for the source of.
And that was the last time I ever spoke to Xion.
…
I mentioned a surgery. See, Hybrids are basically humans born with extra attributes attached to their genetic code. This is because in the old days Mako was a prominent energy source that leaked into the water supply and in turn made everything once edible poisonous. In an attempt to create a filter we were created. Long story short, we have the ability to create a Dystopia should we not remain controlled. Anarchy, etc. However, that is not the topic of the moment.
My surgery was a two-part event.
First they removed my ears, cutting them down to size. Then my tail. That was done when I was five.
The second procedure could have been painful. That was the only sure thing about it. At one point there were things poking me, and another time it might have tickled. Everything was numbed by the anesthesia at first, and all I could figured out was there were blobs above my head. Brown, mostly. That was my mother. Sometimes there was a red one, though. A blob that moved between the bright lights pointed directly at my face. Contacts had been placed in my eyes at the beginning of the surgery in a hope to prevent damage to my retinas, and for that I was glad. However, there was the urge to see the doctors that operated.
“Mr. Flynn, please pass me the scalpel,” my mother said at one point. It was the only tool's name I could remember, as I could not hope to pronounce the others. Even with the accelerated IQ of a Hybrid I had a slow tongue. One that hated long words.
“Mr. Flynn,” she inquired again, “hold his femur still, please.” The red blob moved, and thus was dubbed Mr. Flynn. I'd never been allowed in the room during procedures. All her assistants were a blur. Occasionally I would spot one leaving the house now and then, but all of them were faceless, nameless beings that flitted through my mother's life before moving on to work with Cid or some other doctor in AVALANCHE.
When the anesthesia wore off there was a split moment in which the world went on end and I tried to gasp for air. Everything burned, my head hurt, my back screamed, and somewhere out there Mr. Flynn was having a panic attack over my writhing almost-corpse. Then it hurt everywhere, and the world was ending and people were dying and some poor soul who survived this horrible day would sing depressing ballads to himself, wandering the slowly regenerating world alone.
And then it didn't hurt and my imagination shut its trap.
Mako filtered through me, and a sharp green filled the space somewhere beneath my eyes. Everything went numb, sounds no longer made sense, and the filtered view of blobs through the contacts ceased to exist.
And yet, there was a vague awareness of time.
After a while, it occurred to me that I might be dead. But, then again, “I think therefore I am.” That kept me happy for a while. That is, until an argument, “Whoever said that obviously wasn't dead, therefore wouldn't know if you could think when you died,” presented itself.
I really hate myself sometimes.
Being stuck with one's own mind for an eternity does sound like fitting retribution for one sentenced to Hell, though.
When I came to Mr. Flynn was gone, and my mother sat in the corner, staring at me. The woman smiled, her lips peeled apart, and her smooth, melodious voice almost rivaled the ethereal beauty of her face. “It was a success. You start school on Monday.”
More terrifying words have never been spoken.
…
Mirrors were not allowed in our house.
At the age of nine I didn't know what I looked like, but it was probably so they could prepare me in advance for what I'd see in the High School bathrooms. All it took was a small tweak in my daily Mako and I was shooting up like a weed. The other Hybrids fell a good five inches shorter than myself. Soon after this began they held meetings in the living room based around my growth instead of the upcoming bomb. “How will a young Hybrid react to a setting of higher learning?” they would say. “If the plan fails can we sneak our children in early?”
The day before I left for my first day of school my mother brought in a mirror. I cried, and was glad she hadn't waited for me to see for myself.
My ears really were gone. My tail was gone. I was taller, much taller, and my face was thinner. My eyes were smaller, hands larger, legs toned, stomach lined- it wasn't me.
I was a nine year old in the body of a fifteen year old and it scared the living shit out of me.
Please don't tell Mom I know that word.
And when they marched me up to register the next day there was a moment where no one moved. Or maybe it was my mind slowing everything down. What we were doing was beyond illegal. Forged I.D.s, false documents, fake transfer papers- all to see how I'd handle the environment six years early.
…
Love,
Besieged Infection
Chapter 1
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Character: Roxas
Genre: Sci-Fi/Romance
Rating: T / PG-13
Chapters: 1 / ??
Beta: N/A
Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts rights belong to Square Enix and Disney. This piece of fiction is fan-made and as such I am making no monetary profits off of this.
...
This is not a happy story. A lot of stories begin with something witty. Some hilarious opening that you will remember for most of your life. You will revisit the story several times for a laugh, and then follow the character along their travels until they reach some sort of conclusion of self and words are exchanged. Love is attained, closure is found, and a truth of self is revealed. Some have a great conclusion that will haunt you for the rest of your days. It will change the way you think. The way you act.
But my story isn't like that.
This isn't humor, or adventure, or action. Truth is not found, and there are no great mysteries of life to unravel. A lot of this is high school- most of it isn't. You could say it's an extraordinary romantic tale, but that wouldn't quite do the people around me justice as they fell in and out of love like any normal person does. There were flings, there was conflict. Fights, screams, anger, turmoil, despair. So much despair at our hands. But before the despair, like in so many other stories, there was love. And just as it is with all those others, my story begins with a girl. One who displays the entire circle right before our eyes in her own way. She had love, despair, and finally that love was lost in the circumstances and given no chance to recover from it.
“You're Roxas, right?” she'd said to me, leaning forward on the operation bed and adjusting her posture, one hand on her stomach. Ultrasound equipment littered the room.
Mom asked me to sit in. Apparently I got the time wrong, but she didn't ask me to leave. “You're pregnant.”
The girl laughed. “My name's Xion, and yes, I am. And I hope he looks like his father,” she stated happily, eyes twinkling. “He’ll probably have blue eyes, and brown hair- and a cute, tiny nose!” I could only watch as she rambled on in rapture without any prompting, hands clasping together as she stared into space and babbled about nothing and everything. It was odd- did all women talk about their children this much, even when they hadn’t been born? Lucrecia- my mother- had never shown near this much maternal instinct, or whatever it was called. Either Xion was an enigma or I was surrounded by crazy people. “What do you think of Sora?”
Pulling myself from my trance, I looked around expectantly, only to find that we were alone and she was asking me. “What?”
“Sora,” she restated, rolling her eyes in a ‘Sigh, men’ sort of gesture. “As a name for the baby.”
I shrugged. “Sounds good,” I replied halfheartedly. In an attempt to appeal to her, I asked, “What does it mean?” Woman go ga-ga for that kind of thing, right?
She swelled happily- they apparently did- and her grin turned sentimental. “It means sky,” the older girl replied, staring down at the lump in her stomach with joy. “And now that I think on it, it’s an anagram of your name- minus the X.” Looking up from her stomach, where my gaze had wandered, my eye widened in shock. Xion laughed. “I'm practically naming him after you, Mr. Zombie?”
A smile, unbeknownst to me, spread across my lips in that moment, and we just looked into each others’ eyes for a while until Lucrecia came in with the ultrasound gel. When the monitor revealed a healthy fetus, both women cooed as if they couldn't contain themselves.
“That’s my son,” Xion gasped. Never had I heard her voice so full of emotion; pride, even. “That’s my Sora.”
“The council,” Mother began, successfully spoiling the moment with a sharp edge, “wants you to get an abortion.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring as she glared the woman down. “Not going to happen,” she hissed dangerously. “He’ll be born before the operation is put into action; there’s nothing to worry about!”
Lucrecia sighed, and I knew this was about to be a moment I wasn’t supposed to see. Never the less, I stayed. “Xion,” she began, slowly, carefully. “The baby will interfere with your Mako intake, your mission is still incomplete, there has been no word from the authorities as to whether or not you can keep the baby, and- must we forget- human and Hybrid genetics tend to be incompatible.”
“I,” the girl began, leaning forward slowly, bending everything but her stomach as carefully as she could. “Don’t,” she continued, getting into the woman’s face. “Care.” The last word was practically spat, and she leaned back as casually as she could. “I promised Demyx that I wouldn’t get an abortion.”
“Tell him it was a miscarriage.”
“I’m not going to lie to Demyx.”
“You already are.”
Silence followed, and I found myself leaning away from the two and sliding off towards the stairs. My footsteps went unnoticed, even as they were the only sound that was made other than our breathing. They echoed around the room, and nothing really made sense to me in that moment. I wasn’t part of the outside world, after all.
She smiled, her hand protectively clenching in the shirt above what was undeniably a lump. “He's my-” The girl, no older than myself, paused and corrected herself. “Our baby.” Maternity fell off her in waves. Love, adoration, and just a hint of fear.
This girl- I already knew a bit about her. She had been mobilized to seduce a chairman's son. Originally a Bird-Hybrid, she had once been complete with hollow bones and feathers. Said feathers had been removed in the same program that had taken my ears and tail, but the bones remained.
Her name was Xion, but they called her “Puppet.”
The next time I saw her was a few months before they entered me into high school. Mother asked for my help in the lab- the basement, whatever you want to call it. And there she was thrashing about the table as assistants held her arms down in an attempt to restrain that weak little girl. But she was a Hybrid, and these chemists were all human. They didn't stand a chance.
“Get the restraints,” my mother shouted, pointing me to the leather straps that hung form the sides of the table. “Now!” Was she under a drug? Was she in pain? Containers we used for Mako littered the ground, empty, and Xion put off a sharp green glow.
The restraints were pulled, and they shooed me from the room, but not before the girl began her mantra. “Sora!” she screamed. “Sora!”
When all the doctors left I came around once more, sliding my hand into hers as she stared up at the ceiling, all grief and choking sorrow. “What will I tell him?” she asked.
“Tell who?”
“Demyx.” A tear leaked from one of her eyes, though lefts and rights confuse me so I couldn't tell you which. “We were going to take care of him. Our Sora.” Her gaze drifted, and mine followed.
My stomach lurched, and I averted my eyes to her stomach. Gone was the baby-bump. They had moved it into the jar in the corner without bothering to lock it somewhere she couldn't see. It was then that Xion chose to continue.
“They said...” She trailed off again before continuing, seeming to take courage from the past. “The Council kept saying that Sora was a liability. Newborns at this stage will only jeopardize the plan. Sora would have to be erased and...”
What she said after was a mixture of words and tears that I cannot understand even to this day. A redhead girl- another Bird-Hybrid- came in soon after and took her hand from me. There was some unspoken, “Leave,” that dripped from her eyes and I soon followed the hint. The atmosphere was charged with sorrow, love, and some brand of sexual tension that I didn't even want to begin searching for the source of.
And that was the last time I ever spoke to Xion.
…
I mentioned a surgery. See, Hybrids are basically humans born with extra attributes attached to their genetic code. This is because in the old days Mako was a prominent energy source that leaked into the water supply and in turn made everything once edible poisonous. In an attempt to create a filter we were created. Long story short, we have the ability to create a Dystopia should we not remain controlled. Anarchy, etc. However, that is not the topic of the moment.
My surgery was a two-part event.
First they removed my ears, cutting them down to size. Then my tail. That was done when I was five.
The second procedure could have been painful. That was the only sure thing about it. At one point there were things poking me, and another time it might have tickled. Everything was numbed by the anesthesia at first, and all I could figured out was there were blobs above my head. Brown, mostly. That was my mother. Sometimes there was a red one, though. A blob that moved between the bright lights pointed directly at my face. Contacts had been placed in my eyes at the beginning of the surgery in a hope to prevent damage to my retinas, and for that I was glad. However, there was the urge to see the doctors that operated.
“Mr. Flynn, please pass me the scalpel,” my mother said at one point. It was the only tool's name I could remember, as I could not hope to pronounce the others. Even with the accelerated IQ of a Hybrid I had a slow tongue. One that hated long words.
“Mr. Flynn,” she inquired again, “hold his femur still, please.” The red blob moved, and thus was dubbed Mr. Flynn. I'd never been allowed in the room during procedures. All her assistants were a blur. Occasionally I would spot one leaving the house now and then, but all of them were faceless, nameless beings that flitted through my mother's life before moving on to work with Cid or some other doctor in AVALANCHE.
When the anesthesia wore off there was a split moment in which the world went on end and I tried to gasp for air. Everything burned, my head hurt, my back screamed, and somewhere out there Mr. Flynn was having a panic attack over my writhing almost-corpse. Then it hurt everywhere, and the world was ending and people were dying and some poor soul who survived this horrible day would sing depressing ballads to himself, wandering the slowly regenerating world alone.
And then it didn't hurt and my imagination shut its trap.
Mako filtered through me, and a sharp green filled the space somewhere beneath my eyes. Everything went numb, sounds no longer made sense, and the filtered view of blobs through the contacts ceased to exist.
And yet, there was a vague awareness of time.
After a while, it occurred to me that I might be dead. But, then again, “I think therefore I am.” That kept me happy for a while. That is, until an argument, “Whoever said that obviously wasn't dead, therefore wouldn't know if you could think when you died,” presented itself.
I really hate myself sometimes.
Being stuck with one's own mind for an eternity does sound like fitting retribution for one sentenced to Hell, though.
When I came to Mr. Flynn was gone, and my mother sat in the corner, staring at me. The woman smiled, her lips peeled apart, and her smooth, melodious voice almost rivaled the ethereal beauty of her face. “It was a success. You start school on Monday.”
More terrifying words have never been spoken.
…
Mirrors were not allowed in our house.
At the age of nine I didn't know what I looked like, but it was probably so they could prepare me in advance for what I'd see in the High School bathrooms. All it took was a small tweak in my daily Mako and I was shooting up like a weed. The other Hybrids fell a good five inches shorter than myself. Soon after this began they held meetings in the living room based around my growth instead of the upcoming bomb. “How will a young Hybrid react to a setting of higher learning?” they would say. “If the plan fails can we sneak our children in early?”
The day before I left for my first day of school my mother brought in a mirror. I cried, and was glad she hadn't waited for me to see for myself.
My ears really were gone. My tail was gone. I was taller, much taller, and my face was thinner. My eyes were smaller, hands larger, legs toned, stomach lined- it wasn't me.
I was a nine year old in the body of a fifteen year old and it scared the living shit out of me.
Please don't tell Mom I know that word.
And when they marched me up to register the next day there was a moment where no one moved. Or maybe it was my mind slowing everything down. What we were doing was beyond illegal. Forged I.D.s, false documents, fake transfer papers- all to see how I'd handle the environment six years early.
…
Love,
Besieged Infection
Chapter 1